


The Travelling Aunt

by spycandy



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: F/M, Set about 10 years after canon, Unconventional Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 01:33:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3551093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spycandy/pseuds/spycandy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The d’Artagnans’ young daughter thinks that Anne and Athos have the perfect arrangement. But Anne knows it can’t last forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For burntcopper.

She was woken, briefly, by the disturbance during the night but that was hardly unusual. There was often some emergency at the palace or the garrison requiring the immediate presence of one or other of the adults in the household. 

Sometimes all of them would be urgently needed at the same time, with messengers clattering at the door long after midnight, and Charlotte d'Artagnan would come downstairs in the morning to find her Uncle Porthos lounging at the dining table and greeting her with a wink.

But today her mother was there, laying an extra place for breakfast and wearing a sparkling blue jewel hanging around her neck, which Charlotte had never seen before. That could only mean one thing!

“Tante Anne is here! Is she awake yet? Does Helene know? May I take her breakfast?”

“Calm down, Charlotte,” said Maman, with the slightly-too-sunshiny smile that her daughter recognised as making the best of a day already not going entirely as hoped for. “Your aunt arrived during the night and I’m sure she’s still very tired. We must give her and your Uncle Athos time to, ah, rest. And don’t tell Helene yet, you’ll spoil the surprise.”

This was frustrating, but unsurprising to Charlotte. Tante Anne was almost always exhausted when she arrived, but she would eventually emerge from her rooms full of exciting stories about the world far outside Paris and laden with gifts. As she travelled light, these gifts were usually small items of value and beauty -- mainly jewelry, although on one remarkable occasion, what she had brought back from her travels had been cousin Helene. 

Charlotte had been too young back then to really remember it, but by now the event had passed into family legend, so she felt as if she had witnessed every moment. Nevertheless, she sighed wistfully over the sheer drama of her aunt handing over the small bundle with the words, “Meet your daughter,” then falling in a dead faint at Uncle Athos’s feet. 

Tante Anne had slept feverishly for three days, leaving everyone else somewhat baffled. After all, she had been away for almost a year, but she had written detailed letters from Vienna, none of which had ever mentioned a baby. However, Doctor Lemay visited and confirmed that the unconscious woman had indeed given birth about three months earlier.

After that, the doctor had almost had to wrestle the baby out of Athos’s arms.

“I just want to check whether she’s all right.”

“She’s perfect,” he had insisted, still staring, awestruck, at the small person he was holding. 

If Aramis was present when the story was told, he always chipped in at this point. “As if anyone could ever have doubted Helene’s parentage. She could only look more like her father if she grew a beard.”

“That is not a kind thing to say,” Athos would complain. But he never really looked like he minded.

That occasion was the longest that Tante Anne had ever stayed at the d’Artagnans’ family home. Uncle Athos’s rooms at the garrison were firmly ruled by Maman to be no place for a baby, and Charlotte vaguely remembered the house being fuller and happier than she had ever known it before. Of course, even when Tante Anne had to go away again, Helene had stayed in her father’s care and they both became official lodgers in the d’Artagnan household’s spacious spare rooms so that Helene could easily be looked after along with Charlotte herself during hours of musketeer duty. 

It really did seem like the most perfect arrangement to Charlotte. Tante Anne traveled to extraordinary places to protect the interests of France, meeting incredible people and collecting beautiful things, then she came home every so often to her brave husband and sweet daughter.

Her own parents loved one another, she was sure of that, even if they often bickered and sulked at each other. And by most people’s standards, she knew, their lives were glamorous and exciting. But even serving royalty seemed humdrum and everyday compared with tricking secret blueprints out from under the noses of the spymasters of Europe or stealing the finest jewel in Venice in order to provoke a diplomatic crisis.

“Charlotte, stop daydreaming and help with breakfast,” said her mother.

As she placed the butter dish on the table, Charlotte imagined how she would use it to drug a foreign prince and trick him into signing over important territory to France. 

**

“Well Charlotte, report.”

Anne twirled the small bracelet between her fingers and noted with wry amusement how the little girl could hardly tear her eyes away from the glimmering metalwork. It wasn't actually a thing of great monetary value, just a trinket from a London trader, but it made the better present for a girl of nine, since she would actually be allowed to wear it.

“Helene has been healthy, except for a short cold, but everyone had that. She is well-behaved for Maman, she can write some letters, but half of them are backwards, she likes fencing better than studying and she wants a pony for her birthday.

“Fencing?” asked Anne, deciding that the pony question was entirely something for Athos to deal with. Being the best-placed person to know, Anne had always been certain of the identity of her daughter’s other parent, but it seemed that Helene was determined to prove it beyond anyone else’s possible doubts.

“The musketeers make a great pet of her and have been teaching her with a small toy sword. If it weren't for her sweet nature, I fear she’d be terribly spoiled,” said Charlotte with an air of grave judgement over her smaller honorary-cousin.

“Oh really? And do those overgrown boys not cluck over you equally my dear?”

“You didn’t ask me for a report on myself. But I’m not nearly as sweet as Helene, Tante Anne.”

Anne laughed aloud. Of all the names she had ever taken, or been given, Tante Anne was truly one of her favourites -- so much easier than ‘Maman’ with all of the worry and guilt that entailed. Plus young Charlotte had her own mother’s good heart and rock solid common sense along with a wily streak that was all her own, which made her good company despite her years.

“Very well, what about Athos?”

“The king makes him work very hard, because there aren’t enough other people he can trust with his life. Sometimes he comes home from the garrison and says he’s tired and grumpy and going to bed, but he’s never cross or unkind to me or Helene.

“He got very drunk at Jacques’ birthday party, but so did Papa. They said that everyone did and no one got shot, so it was a good party. He received a knife wound just above the knee last month, which he says is fully healed, but I think it’s still bothering him.” 

“Thank you Charlotte.” They may only have been the observations of a sharp-eyed child, but she felt a weight lift from her heart anyway. Social drunkenness and non life threatening injuries were about the best she could hope for in her absence.

But what could she hope for if she stayed? Could they refrain from killing one another if she remained in Paris? Would Athos even want to risk the extremely comfortable truce they had achieved in their marriage?

Charlotte was still watching the bracelet, patience obviously wearing thin during her aunt’s reverie.

“Now, this lovely thing I got from a silversmith in London," she said, and watched the girl's eyes light up. "Shall I tell you the story of how he came to owe me a favour....?”


	2. Chapter 2

Constance felt the large jewel thump against her chest as she folded the linens. It was a beautiful thing and she intended to enjoy wearing it before selling it, as she had most, if not quite all, of the other precious stones that Anne had brought back from her travels.

She was never quite sure how many of these exquisite gifts were stolen property. If they were, then Anne pilfered with considerable care to match Constance’s taste in jewelry.

But she was also puzzled as to the purpose of the gifts. Were they intended as an apology for everything that had happened in their past, an awkward overture of friendship or simply a business transaction, an unnecessary payment in kind for her part in raising Helene.

“Helene thrives under your care.” The voice from the doorway echoed her thoughts uncannily.

“Thank you,” she said. “She’s a lovely child.”

There was, as always, a tension between them. Constance could accept the woman’s occasional temporary presence in her home for her family’s sake and she knew that the balance had long since tipped in favour of Anne saving, rather than threatening, those she loved the most. But they had got off very thoroughly on the wrong foot and while they had achieved civility, trust was still a long way off.

“Constance, I must ask you something.” Anne still stood in the doorway, dressed in stunning green silks, but hesitant and frowning and nothing like her usual haughty self. “Would you be badly affected by the lost rent if your lodgers were to move out?”

“By the money? No,” said Constance, immediately alarmed that her dear friend and young charge were about to face some unexpected upheaval. “But I would miss them very much. As would Charlotte.”

“Then… Wait, please don’t say anything to Athos yet, but I wanted to make sure… Would you…” She didn’t seem to be able to spit the question out. She took a breath. “If we were to set up home in Paris, could you still look after Helene while I work at the Palais-Cardinal? Or perhaps,” she continued, not leaving Constance time to reply. “Perhaps between us we could afford a governess.”

For the first time ever, Constance felt a rush of fellow-feeling for the woman. As delighted as she had been by Charlotte’s wished-for arrival in the world, it had been hard to give up her position at the palace. The Queen had made clear that she was still a welcome visitor whenever it was possible to get away from home, but her world had shrunk a great deal in the years since she became a mother. Anne’s adventures had spanned much of Europe, it would be cruelty to restrict her to the nursery. 

“Of course I’d be glad to have her. It does Charlotte good to not be an only child all the time and it seems there aren’t likely to be anymore children for us.” She was proud that her voice didn't tremble any more when she spoke of it.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Anne, stepping closer, her hand reaching towards Constance’s, then pulling back as if uncertain whether her touch would be welcome. If her sympathy was fake, then Constance thought she did sincerity remarkably well. “And thank you, that is a weight off my mind.”

“It’s too lovely a day to stay inside doing chores,” said Constance, before the mood could get any weirder. “If you would help me finish this, we can take the girls for a walk and discuss this governess idea of yours some more, because it would be nice to spend a little more time at the palace. Or in adult company more generally.”

Somewhat to her surprise, Anne turned out to be very quick at folding things.

**

“Let me see your leg,” Anne demanded as they got into bed that evening.

Athos rolled over onto his side, displaying a long scar, relatively freshly healed. “I told Aramis he needn’t worry you about it. It’s just a little weak from having to spend two weeks sitting at a desk keeping it still.”

He could hardly admit that he wanted her to worry about it. The injury didn’t warrant real concern, but it could be pleasant to be fussed over by the right person.

She touched her lips to the puckered red line softly, trailing kisses along it. Yes, that was very pleasant indeed. “And your friend kept your secret,” she said, looking up at him through dark eyelashes.

“Then who? Oh, your little spy,” he said. “You oughtn’t to corrupt poor Constance’s only child.”

“I’m merely teaching her to be observant, which will serve her well without her taking up a life of crime.”

“Too late I’m afraid,” said Athos, finding breathing a little more difficult as the soft kisses continued beyond where the knife ever had. “She has already declared her plans to become a pirate captain. Apparently she’s taking Helene along as first mate.”

“Oh well, better that than a boring life,” she said, but she frowned as if not entirely certain that was true when it came to their own daughter. Abandoning the scar, she wriggled up alongside him so that they were gazing directly into each other’s eyes.

He saved up so many things to say to her at moments like this, during the long months between her visits. He was no poet, but they always seemed to be deep, true, meaningful things worthy of intimate conversation when he thought of them. The trouble was that, when she was so close that he could feel her breath on his own lips, he forgot them all.

Reaching for anything at all to say, he ended up with, “Kill anyone interesting on this trip?”

“No one at all, interesting or otherwise,” she said, rolling onto her back with a dramatic sigh. “I got myself invited to parties, gathered information, traded information and smuggled two idiot French agents out of the country before they got themselves killed. But England’s a mess. With so many English aristocrats in exile here at the moment, there will be much to do in Paris.” 

“You could stay?” The words were out of his mouth before he could temper the treacherous hope that burst forth with them. He hadn’t the right to ask her that.

They had long ago agreed that neither of them could possibly be good for anyone else. They could certainly never be their honest, broken selves with another person. These short visits sometimes felt like brief tantalising glimpses of the idyllic life he had once thought they were going to have together -- but they were realer than that had ever been. Even so, after all that they had both done, to each other, to themselves, to other people, how could he dream of deserving a normal family life?

But Helene was an innocent. Perhaps she could deserve it enough for all of them.

“Mazarin has offered me a role…”

He heard in that hesitation exactly what kind of role it was that she had been offered. It was probably even less flattering for one who had long traded on being beautiful and eye-catching, but they were neither of them as young as they had been. It seemed they had both survived for long enough to become the ones who guided and directed brave younger souls to risk themselves for France.

“I think… These past few years… We could… It would be... Helene...”

He still wasn’t certain that he could see through her if she was putting on a performance or trying to manipulate him, and he admired her skill in that, even as it frustrated him. But this was the most nervous he had seen her in the privacy of their bed in years.

“Well, what’s the worst that could happen?” he said.

She stared at him for a moment, while they both recollected their whole dreadful track record in living together. Then she laughed, shaking her head with appalled mirth.

“We could go and look at some apartments tomorrow,” said Athos.

His wife kissed him.


End file.
